The 32nd Hunger Games
by ThatCuteHufflepuff
Summary: Ash has a 'quirk,' as her mother calls it. Add in her abusive mother, horrid brothers, and lack of friends, and her life sort of sucks. But when she is reaped for the 32nd Hunger Games, will this be a blessing in disguise? An adventure awaits her, once she takes that first step onto that train that will take her away.


I stand in the full length mirror, smoothing the lumps in my skirt. I take two deep breaths and slowly close my eyes. Today is the day I have been dreading for one painful, long year. The day where my life could be destroyed. The day my death could be sent in fast forward. I smooth my skirt again. I know I'm panicking. I always panic. But I've survived two years. Why can't I survive another? There are so many kids here. What are the chances of me being the one sent out to die?

"Ash!" My mother shouts from our kitchen. "Ash, come eat something now! I don't want you to be famished at the reaping!" I turn to the door, and slowly take one last glance at myself in the mirror. Oh my lord, I can't do this. I collapse to the ground, clutching my abdomen. Tears form in my eyes. My breath is a heavy lump in my lungs, my heart is speeding. I take one deep breath. Another. Yet another. My nails are piercing into the flesh on my upper arm, scratching through my skin and causing drops of blood to slowly drip down my flesh.

"Mama!" I scream, my voice as scratchy as gravel. My mother walks to me, a spatula still in her hand.

"Ash, you need to get up." I look up at her, tears and blood blending together in a swirly pool of tainted liquid. "You can't do this during the reaping."

"Mama..."

"Ash, get up now!" She screams, whacking the bloody part of my arm with her weapon of choice, this time a spatula. I wipe my eyes and struggle to my feet. I have to be brave. I take a step towards the kitchen, but my mom shoves the spatula in front of me like a guard rail. "No breakfast for you. When you do your little 'quirk,' you must understand there is a punishment. Go clean yourself up. I don't want your brothers to see you like this." I turn around and she smacks my bottom.

I snatch a rag at the washing bowl and slowly wipe my cuts. It stings. I wipe my eyes and take another deep breath. I force my hands to resist the urge to smooth my skirt out. It's not wrinkled anymore. I pick up a presentable jacket and slide it over my shoulders. My mother comes in.

"Control yourself, Ash. They will take you away if you find out about your 'quirk.' Now sit still and let me fix that dreadful hair of yours." I plop down on the wooden crates that make up the washing room bench and my mother's fingers dance through my hair, fixing my strands into an elegant up do.

"Thank you, Mother." I mumble. She smacks me on the head and I repeat my gratefulness, this time louder.

She pushes me on my back out the front door, dragging my three brothers, along. Blewin, Rowan, and Centaury push me around, taunting my hair and my 'quirk,' as my mother called it. We join the swarm of nervous children and helpless parents. I look around for a familiar face or two. A few acquaintances shoot soft glances at me, but look away once they spot my mother. They call her a monster behind her back. Of course she knows. She 's just waiting for the perfect time for revenge. Having them get busted and beaten is her usual form of punishment for her enemies. Only the bravest taunt her now.

My mother kisses my brothers' foreheads and waves them off as they travel to the boys' section. My mother turns me around forcefully. "Ash, I swear to the lord, do not go crazy today. I don't need everyone thinking I'm the mother of a crazy child, who cuts herself and cries." I nod. "Say yes, Mother."

"Yes, Mother."

"Good, now get out." I turn towards my area, joining a few girls from my class at school. We stand, shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart, fear to fear. My mother's nails are digging into the sensitive flesh on my shoulder. I take a deep breath. Another. Yet another. It's been a habit of mine, taking three long, deep breaths. My mother notices them, and always smacks me with the kitchen utensil of her choice.

We stand there for ten long, awkward minutes. Some obnoxious boys in the back of their section start a ruckus, only to be silenced by some nervous mothers. The leader of the pack is Falcon Rider. He was a thick eighteen year old, with bulging muscles and a bratty smirk glued to his face. My mother had always attempted to punish him in her usual fashion, but his family wasn't one to follow my mother. My mother was the obnoxious town gossip no one liked but everyone was too scared to stand up to. Except the Rider family.

Falcon's mother died in a stampede accident three years ago. Someone accidentally let three hundred cows out, and they trampled the town and killed ten mothers. Falcon's mother was one of them. His father was an older man with a blank scalp and gray whispers sprouting on his chin. He raised sheep. I doubt he has enough strength to overcome Falcon.

I glance back up at the podium. Nothing yet. People are getting annoyed. It's like they are rushing their death, rushing their children onto the train to be sent to their death.


End file.
